


Of Good Intentions Outtakes

by obsidian_lily



Series: Of Good Intentions Universe [2]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29171346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidian_lily/pseuds/obsidian_lily
Summary: A series of unrelated scene snapshots that take place after the story's conclusion.
Series: Of Good Intentions Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141523
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Bri Replies

**Author's Note:**

> This story could have gone on forever. And the truth is I will probably write another story in this universe but maybe not of the same length. No one is more surprised than me that this is completed. Classic Aries, starting things I won't finish. One friend told me that it's longer than Lolita by Nabokov which apparently isn't a short novel but I could never finish it so I wouldn't know. See? Aries.

**The proposal from Bri's point of view.**

—

Bri was not and would never be a morning person. Especially after staying out all night with her colleagues after Sev won the fight with Casey. She was tired. Still not 100 percent after her own job related injuries and increasingly sullen and angsty about it. Boden had assured her she was missed. That the floater paramedic for second watch was not an ideal match. That Shay, if she hadn't said anything, was going insane trying to keep the rig stocked and running smoothly. All of this was comforting to hear but not a substitute for being back in the business of saving lives.

None of which mattered in the present moment. Reluctantly, with more than a little annoyance at the daylight, Bri was waking up. Sev loved the curtains to be open so sun could stream in. On mornings that should have been lazy he was usually up, strapping on running shoes or making plans to check on his motorcycle. So it wasn't entirely unusual for Bri to wake up alone. She didn't open her eyes. She could still smell him. On her and the sheets, even the pillow she burrowed into smelled of Sev so she didn't miss him. Not yet. She went into a full body stretch, scanning each limb mentally for aches, up from her toes, through her knees. She smiled at the sore sensation between her thighs, the hickeys he loved to plant there for no one to see. She stretched her arms up above her head, clutching her fingers together gently so she didn't hurt herself. No pain but...

That's when she finally noticed it.

Dawson propped herself up against the headboard and brought her left hand down slowly. Not quite believing what she was seeing on her finger. On her ring finger, that annoyingly significant finger, as she covered her mouth with her right hand to stifle a gasp. It was gorgeous. Her fingers were shaking as she touched it to see if it was real. It was. It was a hexagonal ruby bezel ring set in yellow gold. Diamonds studded the band and surrounded the ruby itself. Dawson was no expert but it couldn't be anything less than 2 carats. Impossible to wear on shift, but she already loved it. Her heart was racing in her chest. She felt close to tears. The sneaky punk! When did he even buy it? On the heels of that thought came the most obvious one: _Kelly Patrick Severide did not slip an engagement ring on my finger and sneak out for a run!_

"SEV!"

She wrapped the sheets around her as she stumbled from the bed. Her mind was racing. How long had he been planning this? God, how much did he spend on it? The answer was yes. Of course it was yes. She loved the man but where was he? Dawson shuffled her bare feet on her cold floor. Nearly falling out of her bedroom door, in search of Sev when he didn't respond. She strode down the hallway, impatient and worried. He should have stayed in bed resting with all his injuries but noooo. Kelly Patrick Severide had to—

Dawson gasped when she saw him. Kelly. Sev. _Cariño_. He was kneeling on the floor, his hands palm up on his thighs in just his boxers and medallion. Like their first morning together, he was smiling. Waiting for her to say something. In the bright morning light she could see every bruise and cut. Every single scar from a job, his split lip, all of him in his gorgeous fragile glory. His eyes were intense, staring right through as she stood propped up against her wall. This man devastated her without even trying.

"You didn't take it off."

He sounded relieved or pleased maybe. She couldn't tell. Dawson was useless before coffee and even less useless in an event of such personal magnitude. His voice propelled her forward, sheet clutched to her chest. Face shielded by her long tangled hair. She suddenly felt shy, inept. This had never happened to her before. She didn't know what to do or how to act. She glanced over the items on the dining table. Coffee and cereal and a brownie ice cream sundae. Her shy smile became a grin as she touched the ceramic bowl. She looked down at Sev not sure of how she should say what she wanted to say next.

"Boden will have a fit but I don't want to ever take it off."

She watched his shoulders relax just a fraction and felt her heart go from racing to melting. He'd been worried she'd say no, braced for an argument. Thinking she would disagree because in this upside down world where they loved each other she played the rational one to his crazy. She let her left hand touch his right cheek. He was still on the floor, waiting like some supplicant for the magic word but she wanted a proposal. She wanted his words. Sev was amazing with gestures but she needed to hear his love. Just this once. You don't ever get your first proposal twice. So Bri knelt down on the floor with him and took his hands in her own. Silent like she'd never been. Sev squeezed hers gently and didn't let go, his thumb grazing over the ring as they stared right into each other. He swallowed audibly. He tried to grin and failed.

"I think it's pretty clear I will do anything for you. I will throw a fight. I _will_ fight. All your battles. Whether you ask me to or not so don't say a word. Not now. I didn't know when I woke up in your bed that I would be different but I am. I so fucking am. You, Gabriela Camilla Dawson, are truly the best gift I never asked for. You make me better. You remind me of my best self and I promise. I absolutely promise to champion yours. I want to spend the rest of my life making sure you're happy, not fine. That you know each and every day how amazing you are. That you are enough. That you always have been. And I want to thank you for showing me that I am too. I know I didn't make it easy but —"

His voice cracked then and tears were already blurring Dawson's eyes. She felt her lips trembling, her whole body drawn tight and shaky as Sev took a deep breath. His eyes closed and she watched him compose himself while she fell apart in slow motion. This man. How did she never see him, all of him, until this last incredible year?

"You are my home. Fuck, I wish I could say it better than that. I want to wake up and fall sleep with you wherever you are. Be mine. Bri. I will choose you every day until you tell me to stop and every day beyond it because fuck that. I love you. Marry me?"

Dawson broke down. Completely undone as she leaned forward, collapsing into Sev, her arms flung around his neck. Breathing him in, this man who loved her so well.

"I don't want you to stop Sev. Oh God you. Estúpido idiota de mierda. Te amo demasiado. I love you more than anything. Yes, I will marry you. Yes, you can fight my fights if I can fight yours. You don't have to do anything alone again. You will never _be_ alone again. Okay asshole?"

He nodded mutely. She let Sev stroke her hair back from her face, soothing her as she felt the babbling anxiety of all her feelings swim to the tip of her tongue. Dawson tried to swallow around them. Tried to speak. He kissed her. Gentle. Sweet. Tasting like coffee and all her tomorrows and Dawson sank into him. His heart, where she'd longed to be and always had been quite without recognizing it.

* * *

_xo_


	2. Back on the Rig...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bri and Sev have differing opinions.

Exactly three months to the day after her accident, Dawson was going back on shift in the ambo.

Boden couldn’t convince her to take it slow and do desk work. Shay was too relieved to try and Antonio was sick of her yelling _pot meet kettle cabron_ whenever he tried.Severide pretended to know better. His idea of a compromise was insisting he drive them to the firehouse for the foreseeable future. And so he was. His hands were clenched over the steering wheel, betraying his turmoil as Bri muttered about the weather going too cold to run outside. Severide didn’t take the hint. He was going on one last motorcycle ride come hell or high water the following Saturday. He needed to check on the cabin ahead of their Christmas holiday. Their surprise holiday. The cabin and holiday he was keeping a secret from Bri because he felt like he didn’t do the proposal right.

And it was late November and they had managed to keep their engagement quiet. In the aftermath of the boxing match, Dawson and Severide had convalesced privately for their separate injuries. Severide taught classes at the academy so he could take care of Dawson much to her annoyance. No one knew even though they had just spent Thanksgiving with the Dawsons. It would have been the perfect time for an announcement but unfortunately, it didn’t happen. This was accidental, but may as well have been intentional, given how dinner went. It had been an interesting mismatch of personalities. Antonio stifling his laughter while Severide suffered Ramon Dawson’s piercing inquiries into his finances and physical health while Bri argued with her mother about the fact that she was absolutely not, under any circumstances, quitting her damn job. Never mind how dangerous it was. How dangerous both their jobs continued to be. It had not been the ideal situation to drop another big change on everyone. So, like the early days of their relationship, they had savored their secret. Severide’s lip healed. Dawson did TBI rehab. Her fingers still ached so she wore the ring on a chain, hidden beneath her clothes, in her bra. Severide made it through to the next round of boxing tryouts at which point Antonio had bowed out. He couldn’t back a firefighter against a cop and hold his head up at work. Severide complained that it was all Bri’s fault and she retorted that he’d kept the job at the firehouse he wanted. The job that was waiting for him once he stopped using her as an excuse to take time off. Her words. Not his.

All autumn they had argued about when Dawson would be well enough to go back to the bar, never mind the firehouse. Severide had pulled out all the stops and much to his dismay, his paramedic fiancee had been just as bad as him about recuperating. She pushed in exactly the same ways he did. Bri didn’t climb onto any counters. He never left her alone long enough to let her. But she was constantly taxing her ribs with overhand stretches into the kitchen cabinets. Attempted to clean or cook when she should be resting. Complained she was going to get fat if they kept eating takeout. Severide was convinced Bri had put more grey hairs on his head in the last three months than the last nine months combined.

The leather squeaked under his hands on the steering wheel.

“You’ll tell me if your head starts to hurt.”

“Sev.”

“Bri. I - ” 

“I’m the medic!”

“You’re the patient!”

“Not anymore!”

“Jesus D! I’m just trying to take care of you!”

“ _Basta!_ Enough! Why don’t you trust me to take care of myself?”

“Maybe because I’ve watched you almost injure yourself _again_ a dozen times in the last week?!”

“Pot!”

“Oh dear God…”

They bickered the whole way to the firehouse. The roads were littered with brightly colored leaves that rustled under the tires. More than once Severide caught Bri staring out her open window, bottom lip bitten raw, trying to hide either her pain or her temper. A useless habit at this point, he’d get the truth from her one way or another. He parked his car across the street from the firehouse. He watched their colleagues strolling into work while he grabbed their go bags and Bri yelled _thank you_ ; her face was still flushed from their argument. He responded by pulling her close. Bri’s hands reflexively clutched his sweater over his heart, while he sought the ring hovering over hers, his bright blue eyes glaring. Go bags dumped on the street.

“You don’t get to do this alone D. Remember?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

Severide kept glaring until she quieted. Until dark brown eyes shifted nervously between him and the firehouse behind them. Severide didn’t care who was looking. He was going to say his piece.

“You watched me like a damn hawk for _months_ after my fall. You cleaned my apartment. You baked brownies. You showed up and you cooked when we were basically broken up and you expect me to let my fiancee go back to her insanely dangerous job. The job that put her in the hospital in the first place and _not_ check in constantly?”

“Kelly…”

He kissed her then. Like they weren’t right outside the firehouse for anyone to see. Like they weren’t about to tuck their relationship away. Out of sight and out of mind to do their jobs with utmost professionalism after a three month reprieve. It was an adjustment Severide wasn’t ready for. To own the truth, it was a shift back to normal he almost regretted. Being with Bri without the job getting in the way had refined his feelings down to a diamond sharp edge. Had honed his love and fear and fierce protectiveness to a precise but inchoate vision he didn’t have the words to explain to his future wife yet. _His_ _wife_. Severide released Bri’s lips with a gasp, his mouth still hovering over her own. Sharing her breath in the madness that was their specific selfish need to be together. His hands palmed the back of her skull, her neck, her shoulders. Already checking her over, a routine he hadn’t needed to do in this particular way in months, as he inspected her from head to toe. Memorizing exactly how she looked to compare with how she appeared at the end of their shift.

And Bri let him, her face showing plainly that she was irritated.

Severide made an exasperated sound as he turned to pick up their bags.

“Wait. Stop.”

Severide glanced back patiently while Bri chewed on her lips.

“I’m never quitting my job.”

Severide scoffed a laugh. Quite without realizing it he was standing on the opposite side of the street staring back at Bri incredulously. A bag gripped in each hand as he shrugged his shoulders emphatically.

“Neither am I!”

“Except you did. You literally dropped everything and-“

“And what?”

“I don’t know!”

They were yelling across the street from each other. They were being that couple you’d never believe actually exists anywhere but television shows. Ten minutes before shift start and Severide was already thinking it was too soon. Bri was still too volatile. Her mood swings. Her irrational anxiety and inability to frame a coherent thought at times. He understood it all. Except maybe the Spanish she was spewing just then, holding onto his car like a lifeline. He could feel the eyes of second watch on his back, their colleagues coming out to enjoy the spectacle. Severide still didn’t care if anyone was looking. He already knew that he was right and he was annoyed that she’d taken the argument into left field. How was him staying home to take care of her the issue?

“Bri. You literally don’t make sense right now!”

“¡No te atrevas a decirme que estoy loca! Te estoy jodienda. Yo se que estoy loca!"

“Loca? I’m not saying you’re crazy! You’re recovering from a brain injury!”

“ENOUGH!”

Slowly, face burning with annoyance Severide turned to face Chief Boden. Truck and Squad and Engine were ranged out behind their leader. He had his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face.

“This is the first time you two have acted so unprofessionally near my firehouse and it will be your last. Go home.”

Severide swallowed as Bri yelled in indignation. He cleared his throat as Boden walked towards him. Severide felt Bri storming up from behind him as he raised his hands in apology to his chief.

“Sir…”

“Clearly you aren’t ready to come back.”

Severide’s face said _yes_ and _thank you_ and _please keep going_ even as he pulled a flailing Dawson to a stop beside him before she physically confronted a man at least one foot taller than herself.

“I’m fine Chief. Lieutenant Severide is an overbearing oaf!”

Chief Boden sucked his teeth. Said _hmm_. Glared at the couple in front of him, one contrite and one combative. Severide held Dawson until she lost steam. She was still more than a little tired most days though she was loathe to admit the weakness. He understood this but he was worried. He watched as Boden yelled for the others to stop standing around like a bunch of gossiping fools. The trio waited then, in an awkward quiet, for their audience to depart. Dawson’s breath harsh in her lungs, the November air cold around them, Severide’s fingers close to freezing in his driving gloves.

Boden’s stance didn’t soften an iota as he looked between Dawson and Severide but his voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“Y’all have been through hell but you can’t behave like this in front of my firehouse. You can’t show up like a pair of screaming housewives and bawl out while civilians are watching. I won’t have it.”

His tone held all the calm authority of a father with his recalcitrant children and both were duly chastised.

“Sir, I understand and I’m sorry —“ Dawson began to say.

“You aren’t getting in the ambo today. I already called in your relief. You are dismissed Dawson.”

She went to speak and Boden pointed to the Camaro while he fixed his glare squarely on the squad lieutenant. Severide didn’t blink or turn away as Dawson grumbled and stalked off. Didn’t say a word while his superior fumed; clearly he was more than a little irritated with the emotional display of his subordinates. Severide did not disagree with him.

“She’s not ready but you are. Are you coming to work today?”

“Sir?”

“You packed your go bag. You drove her here. We both know you were against it. You acted logically. Rationally even. For the most part. Your ribs are healed. Are you ready?”

Severide was momentarily speechless. He was not prepared for the idea that Boden would send Dawson home without him. Was he ready? Did it matter?

“I can’t let her drive the car sir…”

“Hmm. That’s a cop out. I know you think you owe it to Dawson to be there every day, every step of the way. But you are coddling her and punishing yourself. Why?”

“Chief. I—“

Boden put one hand on each of Severide’s shoulders and gave him a quelling look.

“Kelly. By all rights you should have stayed off the job much longer than you did after your own incident. So I would understand if you were taking this time to truly heal. Is that what this is?”

Severide stopped the instinctive _no_ that rose up out of his throat. He huffed a derisive snort and shook his head in bewilderment. He didn’t know what Boden was after, questioning him like this. He stared up at his boss, a man he deeply respected, wordless and overwhelmed and recognizing it. Severide actually realized what he had taken on without thinking in spearheading Dawson’s rehabilitation. Was he punishing himself?

“No. It’s not about me at all. I just…” _I love her and I need her and it drives me insane._

But of course, he didn’t say that. A pained grimace crossed his face while Boden watched, patient and quiet for Severide to give him a proper response for why he had not reported to duty. Why he had decided not to lead his men at a job he considered his life’s calling. They stayed like that for a long minute, cold and silent as cars passed by and everyone else waited. The firehouse crew indoors and probably gossiping. Dawson, sitting on the trunk of his car, hugging herself in a lonely sulk. Severide glanced at her briefly before turning back to center under his commander’s steady hands.

“It doesn’t feel real. I think. Dawson and me. Some days it’s like I didn’t survive that fall. Like I’m still in a coma and this is all one long dream. Does that make sense?”

Severide wasn’t looking for a response and Boden didn’t look inclined to give it. Parsing as he was, the psychological state of his squad lieutenant. Traumatic brain injuries were tricky. They often had long lasting effects on memory function and mood regulation, never mind personality. Both Severide and Dawson had been hospitalized because of the severity of their injuries and he’d allowed the lieutenant to enter the boxing ring on a whim that had, at least, offered Firehouse 51 some respite from drama. Boden squeezed Severide’s shoulders deliberately.

“Kelly. You’re here. You’re alive and we miss you around the station. Both of you obviously.”

Boden cleared his throat around the awkward confession. Gruff but kind he paused, hoping Severide would say something until the younger man fidgeted. Boden stifled a sigh as he stepped back. Gestured to Severide’s car as the squad lieutenant stuffed his hands in his pockets awkwardly.

“Take her home. Get it sorted out. But I expect you on time, if not early for your next shift _without_ Dawson. Are we clear?”

The drive back to the townhouse was tense. Severide’s hands were clenched on the steering wheel as Dawson shook her leg impatiently in the passenger seat. He figured this was going to be another blowout. Assumed, perhaps quite rightfully, that she would fly off the handle. Remind him that she was just as strong and tough as he was. That her right hook still stung even if her left cross was shit because her fingers ached. Severide was of the private opinion that they fought so hard sometimes because neither of them could believe it was easy finally. That Casey had gone quiet and professional. That Shay accepted them. Shay, who had finally confessed to Severide that she wouldn’t mind being a voyeuristic third in their bedroom. He’d taken the tequila bottle away and never told Dawson. That was the one secret he would keep between them. He glanced across at his sullen fiancee, making the turn onto their street with only half his attention on the road.

“I didn’t quit my job. I took medical leave to look after my wife.”

He felt more than heard her sharp gasp. He was trying the word on for size. Letting it warp his tongue the way it had shattered his brain to believe he finally belonged to someone. A woman who wouldn’t cheat and leave him to pick up the pieces with her family. Someone who called him on his shit but didn’t think he was chickenshit. Severide parked the car, pulling up on the hand brake and stared straight ahead. He was getting better every day at talking about his feelings. It still felt strange: a stone sitting in his voice box he could not dislodge. Severide squinted through the windshield like he was staring into the distant future, far beyond the vanishing point. His imagination carried him further and further into the dream that was their life together. He didn't mind being quiet when she was near. Bri’s fingers carefully, gingerly, traced his hand in wordless reply. Severide smiled. She was the one thing that made sense.


	3. Wishing You Were Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sev struggles and Bri tries to help.

It was February in the worst way. Chicago does winter like Miami does hurricanes. Bitter resignation coupled with an ounce of preparation for the inevitable blustering winds and consistent snowfall. Dawson was bundling up. Thermals and wool socks. Long coat and thick gloves. She could hear Severide fumbling around in their bathroom. His quiet curses and awkward bumping, six months into living together and he was still a bull in a china shop among her things; their things in the small bathroom. She wanted to smile but couldn't. Today was going to be difficult. It was always going to be hard for Severide even if he was unwilling to admit it. It was Andy's birthday and Severide missed his best friend. He was going to visit him.

Dawson braided her hair into one long plait while she waited for her fiancé to be ready. She refused to speak first, knowing Severide well enough to know he would talk when he could. It had shocked her when he asked her to come with him. Not that it should have. Severide had been asking her to be in his corner for months. Since the 4th of July and her confrontation with Darden's widow to protect him; his need to see and visit with Darden's sons. She was still feeling her way around his edges, just as he was with her. Neither of them were perfect and sharing came much easier to Dawson than Severide. She'd never begrudged him his armor.

Still, when he came out of the bathroom freshly shaved with a countenance smooth and calm as a frozen lake, Dawson wanted to cry. He was trying so hard to keep his heartbreak hidden. He was playing cool in the face of a death that had already torn one friendship completely apart in its aftermath. Severide had never discussed it. Dawson had never fully debriefed with him about Andy's death but it was obvious now, that she would need to eventually. That now, with the drama of their relationship firmly in the rearview mirror, Severide's devastation was a living, breathing weight on his chest. Smothering him. And still Dawson waited, taking him in: shattered blue eyes and tense posture.

"I haven't been to see him since the funeral. Haven't seen the headstone."

Dawson stood and walked over to him. She brushed at his collar and straightened his sweater. Pressed her hands square over his heartbeat before finally looking up into his eyes. Severide's hands clenched her waist like a lifeline, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"Andy, of all people, would understand."

She waited for him to nod before kissing his cheek. Severide reached for her hand and Dawson didn't let go as she turned to lead him out of the room.

If they had been at Severide's old place with Shay, they could have been at Rosehill Cemetery in thirty minutes. But Severide lived with her now. Her place was further away and because she knew the route, Severide was letting her drive his car. It was a testament to his distraction that this didn't seem strange to the withdrawn squad lieutenant. However, Dawson knew it for what it was: his inability to concentrate on anything besides his grief as she slowly drove his Camaro out of their neighborhood. She couldn't really appreciate the novelty of the experience because she kept glancing over at him. She wanted to joke about the heating being terrible in his muscle machine but didn't have the heart to derail his introspection.

Nearly an hour later because of her own caution and Chicago's hideous traffic, Dawson was driving through the old gatehouse while Severide gripped his door handle with increasing unease. He had said barely a word the whole way north. She'd taken the scenic route past Millennium Park and Wrigley Field, close to the water hoping he would bitch about the cold winds and tell her to hurry. But nothing had roused him from his terrible mood so she slowed the car down even more. You shouldn't go above fifteen miles in an active cemetery anyway and it was cold. Deserted. No one looked to be nearby except the guard at the gate as she pulled over to the side and engaged the hand brake. A strained quiet permeated the small space as Dawson listened to his breathing. Severide was starting to hyperventilate.

"Can we walk to the Firefighter's Monument? Would that be okay?"

He nodded tightly. Said _yeah, sure_ in a blank tone so unlike him that Dawson wondered if he was truly up to this. The reality of Andy's death would not change if they stayed in the car. Mills would still be Darden's replacement in Firehouse 51. Heather would still be treating Severide like it was all his fault. Casey would still be blaming him and struggling with the fact of their relationship. Severide exited first. The soft click of the passenger door jarring Dawson into action as she scrambled to follow suit. He pulled her door open and helped her out, ever the gentleman he pretended he was not. Dawson could smell the sharp tang of him in the cold air and breathed deeply. She tucked her hand into his elbow crease and was extremely grateful for his hand covering hers as the wind off the lake blew over them. Dawson leaned in. Lent him her warmth and felt better when he huddled closer still.

Without another word they ventured further into the cemetery, wandering aimlessly to the tall marble landmark. It was set off the main path on a small hill, the trees cut back so it was in no danger of being toppled. Dawson craned her neck upward to the young man cast in stone at the top. His stance held a hint of the swagger she witnessed every day. The megaphone held loosely in the left hand while the right seemed to toss a jacket over his shoulder a near century before James Dean perfected casual cool. She had never seen it before but she intended to keep vigil now, just in case Severide needed time alone with Andy. Dawson watched Severide as he turned a slow circle around the monument's perimeter, pensive and solemn as he took in all the details until he broke into a soft smile for the small bright figurine of a boy holding a fire axe at its base.

"That was Andy," he finally said. "He knew his whole life he wanted to be a firefighter."

"Sev, do you want me to stay here while you visit?"

"What? No. Come on."

Dawson huddled into Severide as he wrapped his right arm around her shoulder. She slipped her left around his waist, gripping his coat in a tight vise as they strolled leisurely among the naked trees and winter grass. He seemed to recollect himself as they did. Kissing Dawson's forehead as they trekked quietly among the headstones. Some had flowers, fake and real. Others had small pebbles scattered on top. Some still had their Christmas wreathes from the living loved ones who missed them. Dawson let Severide guide their way until he pulled her gently up a familiar little hill to Andy's grave.

Except Andy wasn't alone. Dawson's right hand came up to rest on Severide's chest as his whole body tensed for a battle that didn't need to happen. He glanced down at her, eyes wide open and clearly struggling. Asking a question as they silently debated the merit of coming back later. She knew she would follow his lead. But Casey turned then, alerted by some small sound or their mere breathing. He held a bottle of Andy's favorite beer in one hand, Two Brothers. He frowned. Dawson glanced at the six pack resting next to the headstone. There were still four beers left so Casey wasn't alone and drunk in a cemetery at least. She refused to move from Severide's side even though Casey's scrutiny was always going to make her uncomfortable. It was no one's loss but his own. No one moved and no one said a word. Dawson startled when Severide's hand squeezed hers over his chest. Telling her he was okay. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a cigar. Dawson watched him walk forward, passing Casey to rest it on top of the black granite marker, before stepping back and taking out another to begin the slow process of cutting and lighting it while Casey played witness.

This was their old ritual of course. The boys smoking cigars on the firehouse roof on any clear summer day when their chores were done and work was slow. Filthy habit though Dawson couldn't lecture them on its danger when what they inhaled on each and every job was probably twice as bad at least. She cupped her hands around the lighter so the flame would catch. Watched as Severide blew a long slow stream of smoke into the air, his eyes suspiciously glassy. Casey tipped a sip of beer into the grass below him in response. Then they were all just staring at the grave marker, hand etched with a helmet bearing Andy's badge number. _Beloved Husband, Father, and Brother in Arms_ with his birth and death date underneath.

Dawson started to leave but then thought better of it as Casey bent to grab a beer from the six pack and Severide pulled yet another cigar from his pocket simultaneously. The former friends exchanging peace offerings in silence. Dawson marveled at Severide's foresight. Or maybe he'd hoped Casey would be there. Such was his way with small gestures. She stood just a little behind Casey and Severide, standing vigil. Allowing them this small semblance of their old lives. This lie for a friend who couldn't know what his death had cost them as the air went damp with the promise of snow. Severide took a sip and poured a sip then another long pull on the cigar while Casey lit his own.

"You should've —"

"Not today Casey" Severide cut in.

Casey glanced at Dawson but she gave him nothing. It had been more than a year now. Andy was still dead. Blame should have left both their lips long before now but wouldn't. Could not, as she well knew as the latest cause of their rift. Instead she stood in Severide's shadow, guarding his back. Loving him and supporting his need to be stoic in front of Casey.

They smoked the cigars until they were embers and the beer bottles were empty. Until the snow was falling in earnest and Severide had turned up the collar on his wool coat against the wet. Dawson gripped one of his gloved hands as she shivered. They shared memories of Andy without rancor. Casey was quiet but pleasant. Rolling his eyes as Severide described one of their close calls as probies. Severide whispered private childhood stories into Dawson's ear, smiling at the pranks he'd pulled as a kid while she laughed softly.

Casey left first taking the empties with a slow awkward wave as he stumbled down the path. Dawson did not watch him go. Instead, she focused on Severide as he crouched next to the headstone, his fingers tracing over the badge numbers while Dawson placed a hand on his back to steady him.

"Happy Birthday Andy," he murmured softly.

Severide began to cry, shoulders heaving, hands flat against the stone as Dawson collapsed to her knees beside him on the grass. She hugged him as he went incoherent with bone deep grief. As he mourned a man who was more brother than friend. She soothed him in Spanish, knowing the words didn't matter as much as her mere presence. And when he finally spoke, voice raw from screaming all she heard was _Andy would've been happy for us_ before Dawson began weeping too. For what he had lost. For what they had both lost. The last year pulling them apart even as they held tight to each other.


End file.
